


Shack Attack: The Professionals

by Arduinna



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Canadian Shack, M/M, Pros, shack attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arduinna/pseuds/Arduinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle is less than pleased with Bodie's day in the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shack Attack: The Professionals

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Great Shack Challenge (101 Ways to End Up in a Canadian Shack)](http://www.trickster.org/speranza/ShackedUp.html) of December 2001.

"Could be worse," Bodie said.

"Yeah? How's that?" Doyle flung himself into the only standing chair, gritting his teeth as it wobbled dangerously under him.

"You could've been partnered with Anson for this obbo, 'stead of me."

"Reckon that's worse, do you?"

Bodie shot him a wounded look. "C'mon, Ray, it's not so bad."

"We are stuck in the middle of nowhere, in a bleedin' blizzard with a car that won't start. We've a packet of biscuits and a roll of mints between us. Probably get attacked by Indians next."

"Indians!" Bodie stared at him. "You're a complete nutter."

"Bears, then!" Doyle glared. "Point is, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. Brilliant idea of yours, this."

"It's not my fault!"

Doyle bared his teeth. "'Deliver the duke, lads, that's all I want you to do. Hand him over, get a night's rest, and head home.' Remember that, Bodie? Eh? But no, you had to drag me off to the fucking wilderness. We coulda been snug in a hotel somewhere now, not hunkering down in a hovel with walls that are more holes than wood. Good thing it's snowing, really, we can plug up the holes with snowballs, keep out the drafts. Like Eskimos."

Bodie winced, then rallied. "You were keen enough on it until it started snowing. And you were the one listened to the weather, said it was going to be clear and sunny!"

"Oh, right, blame this on _me_! Who was the one hired the car, eh, Bodie?"

"Well, you're the bloody genius mechanic!" Bodie took a deep breath and shut his eyes. "It's too soon to start fighting."

"Oh, right, wouldn't want to spoil tomorrow's entertainment." Doyle looked around the barren room. Christ, they'd need something, that was certain. "So now what?"

"Get more wood, for one." Bodie glanced at the window. "Now, before it gets any darker. And if you spot anything that looks remotely edible, bring it in. Should still be something around. It's early yet."

"Christ, I forgot all about it!"

"What?"

Doyle held his hand out. "Keys."

"The car doesn't start, Doyle," Bodie said patiently. "And we already got the bags out."

"No, really?" Doyle marvelled. "Give me the fucking keys!"

Bodie handed them over with a glare, and Doyle went outside, bending his head into the wind and swearing as he stumbled over to the car. He found the boot and opened it, grabbing the basket sitting there in lonely splendour.

"Don't think you get out of hauling wood!" Bodie shouted over the wind as he heaved an armload up and headed back indoors.

Doyle grinned and closed the boot.

"I don't know what you thought you were doing." Bodie kept stacking wood carefully as Doyle walked in. "It's not like a hire car is gonna have blankets in the boot."

"No, but it might have food," Doyle said, grinning at the speed with which Bodie whipped round. He put the basket on the table. "Surprise!"

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"Was gonna take us on a picnic," Doyle admitted. He rubbed his nose and squinted at the fire, then glanced sidelong at Bodie.

Bodie beamed. "What's in it?"

"Oh, this and that. And a bottle of wine." He looked at the traces of snow still on the basket. "Nicely chilled."

"You're my hero, Doyle, have I ever told you that?"

   


* * *

  
 

"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou," Bodie said, slipping an arm around Doyle's shoulders as they sat staring into the fire.

Doyle sniffed and leaned into him. "Sentimental sod."

(597 words)


End file.
